The Dance
by Neverland Fairy
Summary: A Ravenclaw bookworm prepares for a dance in hope to find Prince Charming, but finds herself sorely disappointed until a white night of a different sort comes to her rescue. No romance, but slight fluff.


Once a year, she told herself, I deserve to be beautiful. This was her rationalization for closing up her books hours earlier than usual and going back to her dormitory to get ready.

To get ready for the dance.

What her parents would think of the ridiculous frivolity of the whole affair, she dared not imagine. They had told her specifically, the summer before this year, "All right, you've had your fun, you've been a child. It's time for you to leave your fairytales behind and get to work. Make us proud." She studied like no other student she knew, and she achieved grades that made her peers despair.

But, she thought, running the brush through her hair, that wasn't always enough. Surrounded by three beautiful Ravenclaw girls, she sometimes felt…inadequate.

"Who are you going to the ball with, Clara?" Amadora asked, applying liberal amounts of makeup to her olive face.

"Oh, no one. I wasn't asked," she replied, without a hint of regret in her voice.

"Oh, that's too bad. I'm going with Gavin Carroll—Gryffindor, seventh year, most delicious guy at Hogwarts—"

"Amadora, you've told us a hundred times already," Candace said, her wand glowing red with heat with a lock of hair wrapped around it, half of her hair already in ringlets.

"Yeah, you don't need to brag," Sherry added.

"Actually, I don't even know if I'm going to go down to the ball. I just felt like getting ready with you three," Clara said.

"You still have to come! It doesn't matter if you don't have a date, you can still get asked to dance and talk with people and stuff. It'll be fun," said Candace. Clara hummed noncommittally and began to apply cover-up—it took her a moment to realize it was the entirely wrong color and go to wash it off. She grabbed the right bottle this time—the palest one on their makeup shelf—and started to put it on, tuning out the idle chatter of the other girls. A ball. She was going to a ball. All the Cinderella stories she had prudently put aside in favor of Potions texts and Ancient Runes manuscripts came swirling back into her mind. It did not matter that she was going alone—she was going, and that meant that some handsome prince was going to find her and sweep her off her feet. She only had to make herself as beautiful as possible, and all her dreams would come true.

Clara surveyed herself in the mirror. She still needed: powder, eyeshadow, mascara, lipgloss. That should do it. She quickly powdered her face—that was basic, anyway, something she used almost every day—and then applied a first coat of mascara. She glanced over at Sherry and Amadora, who were debating which shade of lipstick would best suit Candace, and couldn't help but roll her eyes a little bit. Stepping delicately over the mess that currently consumed their dormitory floor, she went over to her bed and opened her trunk. There, at the very bottom, hidden under socks and shoes and school robes and ties, there were the dress robes. She looked at them for a moment, fixing the color in her mind again, and then closed the trunk and went back to the mirror.

"Do you need any help, Clara?" Candace asked.

"Well," Clara said, "I really don't know what I'm goingto do with my hair."

"I think you should curl it. Here, I'm almost ready, I'll do it for you while you do your makeup," Sherry said.

"Would you really? That would be lovely."

"No problem. Honestly, I wasn't expecting you to get so excited about the ball. You've acted rather…indifferent toward it. _Fervefacio_." Sherry selected a blonde lock and carefully wrapped it around her wand, then sprayed it with copious amounts of hairspray.

"Sherry, be careful! If you set her on fire, I'll hold you personally responsible," Candace cautioned. Clara turned about in fright.

"Please don't do anything that might cause my hair to spontaneously combust," she pleaded.

"I'm not doing anything of the sort. Candace did the exact same thing with her hair—she's just teasing." Sherry sent a glare in Candace's direction that set Amadora to giggling.

"Who are you going with again, Sherry?" Clara asked—though the girls had spoken of it several times, it was easy to lose track.

"Brent Spinner. Hufflepuff in our year. Do you know him?"

"No, I don't. Is he nice?"

"He's _wonderful_. Absolutely marvelous." Sherry sighed happily. "He even consented to having me color-code our outfits. He's just so thoughtful."

Clara smiled. "I'm so happy for you! Who are you going with, Candace?"

"Kevin Banning."

"Oh, really? When did he ask you?"

"A few weeks ago. He sent me those flowers that arranged themselves in words, don't you remember? They made Sherry sneeze, but I thought it was adorable. You know, we've known him for a long time, but I never really considered him "dating" material, not for me."

"I take it you've changed your mind?" Amadora teased. Candace blushed. "I understand entirely—he has gotten cute rather fast, hasn't he?"

"Keep your paws off, Amadora," Candace joked, waving her wand in Amadora's direction. Amadora just laughed.

Clara was almost finished with her makeup, and she had to say that she was pleased with her handiwork. It wasn't often that she allowed herself the time to concentrate on being beautiful, but today proved that she hadn't lost her touch.

"Ooo, Clara, I love the eyeshadow you've chosen! I take it your dress robes are blue?" Sherry asked, almost done curling Clara's hair.

"Yes, they are. Does it really look right? Am I missing anything?"

"Well, I know how much you hate eyeliner, so I won't even suggest that, but I think you need blush."

"No way, Sherry. I don't do blush, either."

"Oh, why not? You're going all-out on everything else."

"I don't have any blush of my own, and I'm too pale to use any of yours. We tried that, remember? I looked radioactive."

"Radio-what?"

"Never mind. I mean, I looked like I got hit with a badly-done glowing charm."

"You did not. Don't be silly."

"No blush, Sherry."

"Candace, help?" Sherry implored of the brunette girl.

"You might like just a little teeny bit of blush, Clare. Just a smidgen, mixed with some of your normal powder to even it out?"

"I don't think so, Candace. I'd probably just smudge everything up."

"Okay, okay," she sighed. "But if you don't allow blush, then you HAVE to have a little bit of silver glitter on your temples."

"Glitter!" Sherry exclaimed. "Perfect!"

"Fine, glitter," Clara said. "But, other than a few extra touches, I look fine?"

"You look MAH-velous, dahling," Amadora drawled, then smiled.

"See, it's unanimous. Here's my glitter," Candace said, handing Clara a small tube. "Be careful—it comes out fast. Use your fingers," she cautioned.

"Thanks," Clara said, and rubbed the tiniest smidgen of glitter on both temples. "This is more fun than I imagined it being," she admitted.

"Isn't it great? We should have dances more often," Amadora said.

"Oh, no way! This is a little too much work to do more than once or twicea year," Clara said.

"Meh, try doing it every day," Sherry said, finishing with Clara's hair. "Well, not quite to this extent, but you know what I mean. Now, what do you want to do with these curls?"

"Ooo, you should pin most of them back and let the rest hang loose. Can I do it for you, Clare?" Candace asked.

"Of course! You know much better what you're doing than I do," Clara said, throwing up her hands. She closed her eyes as Candace and Sherry began to fiddle with her ringlets. She could see the Great Hall, candle-lit and breath-taking; she could see herself walking in, and everyone turning to look—surely that girl was not from Hogwarts? Surely someone would have noticed such a beauty before? But no, it was Clara, and shocked whispers ran through the crowd. She could see herself smiling congenially and gracefully joining conversation after conversation before being positively assaulted with requests for a dance. And then, there was one boy who would ask her again and again, and she would oblige, and at the end of the evening he took her aside and led her through the rose maze until, alone, they shared her first kiss…

"Hey, Clara? Clare? What do you think of this style?" Candace was saying, and Clara opened her eyes. It took her a moment to register her reflection in the mirror.

"What? What have you done to my head? I look like a poodle!" she exclaimed, a hand flying to her hair.

"Fine, fine, we'll take it down. Jeesh."

Clara determined to keep her mind fully in the present to keep something like that from happening again.

The clock in the corner chimed seven times and let out one horrible shrieking noise, making Candace jump.

"Oh, seven thirty already? I still need to fix my shoes!" she said. "Sorry, Clare, I have to leave you in Sherry's hands."

"No problem," Clara said, and Sherry waved Candace away. "What's wrong with her shoes?" Clara asked.

"There are butterflies on the buckles that are the wrong color—Candace just has to change them, but they're a little bit magic-resistant, so if she can't manage it she's going to take them to the seventh-year prefect—what's her name?—the one who's so good at Transfiguration."

"Oh, I see. Meredith Noir."

"Yeah, that's it. Now, here, what do you think of this?"

"Much improved. You've done wonders, Sherry—thank you SO much."

Sherry did one more spray of the miraculous hair-spray and nodded.

"No problem. I love doing hair, and yours is really soft. You should let me at it more often, you know."

"I'll think about it." Clara rose from her chair and peered at her face one more time—she was, for once, much closer to her daydream self than her normal self.

"Hey, girls," Amadora said from behind the bathroom door, "What do you think?" The door swung open and Amadora stepped through, modeling her robes.

"Oh, gorgeous!" Candace gushed, dropping her shoes and stepping toward the beauty. "Where did you get these? They're PERFECT on you!"

Indeed, Clara agreed, the robes of deep red suited Amadora's complexion very well, and the cut accented all of her curves.

"I bought them at a little boutique when my parents and I were in Italy this summer. Aren't they just wonderful?" She spun around once.

"They're great, Amadora," Clara said.

"Absolutely. Gavin's going to fall over when he sees you," Sherry said. "Now it's my turn." Sherry took her own robes, hidden under her bath robe, into the bathroom to change.

"Oh, drat, these just won't change color," Candace sighed, wand pointed at her shoes. "I'm going to have to go ask Meredith, I guess."

"Here, let me have a go, Candace," Clara said.

"Okay, thanks."

Clara took out her wand and pointed it at the butterfly on the left shoe. "What color do you want it?"

"Gold."

"_Argentum muto aurum_." The silver butterfly slowly swirled to gold.

"Thanks, Clara!" Candace said, and Clara did the same to the other.

"You're welcome."

Sherry came out in her dress, and the three girls admired the way the light blue accented her eyes; then Candace went in and changed into her dress.

"Look, it's seven forty—the boys will be waiting!" Amadora said. "I'm going to go downstairs. See you three there!" She gathered up her dress and went out the dorm door. Sherry rolled her eyes.

"She's a little too full of herself sometimes," she said.

"Maybe," Clara said, going back to her mirror. Candace, too, came out, looking gorgeous in her dark green dress trimmed with gold.

"We've got to get going. Clara, get into your dress, quick!" she said.

"Oh, you girls go ahead and meet your dates. I'll be ready in a few minutes."

"No, you should come down with—"

"Okay, we'll see you in a few minutes, Clara. You ready, Candace?" Sherry cut in, taking Candace by the elbow.

"Er, okay, I guess so. Do I look all right?"

"Of COURSE you do! Get going!" Clara said, smiling. Sherry gave her a private smile and led Candace out the door.

Clara went over to her trunk and took out her dress robes. She held the silky material against her cheek and closed her eyes.

It was time.

---

Snape scowled at himself in the mirror as he fixed the high collar on his dress robes. A ball. Ridiculous. The last thing Hogwarts needed was an excuse for teenagers to get together, dance, spike the punch, and snog. Students were enough of a hassle already without hormones running high. _Although_, he admitted to himself, _I can probably take massive amounts of points and assign numerous detentions._ This made him smirk a little bit. Checking himself once over to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything—pants, for instance—he also surveyed his room to make sure everything was in place: bottle of fire whiskey on the side table, Dreamless Sleep potion in a vial on his pillow, the fire still blazing. He went over and took a swig of the fire whiskey and then steeled himself to enter the bedecked halls of Hogwarts.

Christmas decorations were everywhere, and he couldn't keep the sneer off his face. Really, all this useless celebrating got on his nerves; adopting Muggle holidays for the purpose of singing distorted carols and giving presents was the most pathetic thing he'd ever seen. Well, perhaps not ever—he was an irritable man.

Snape entered the Great Hall through one of the side doors and sat down at the High table next to Septima Vector, the only professor who was deathly afraid of him. That way, he could be assured of no idle chatter during the ghastly affair.

He was out of luck, however; a moment later Minerva McGonagall sat down beside him and immediately downed the glass of who-knew-what at her place.

"Merlin, I hate dances," she muttered.

"And how can sitting by me make the experience any more palatable?" Snape asked.

"At least there's someone to commiserate with—all the other professors are very excited."

Snape thought that McGonagall had, perhaps, been observing Snape too closely, for she was learning to scowl most expertly. He knew, however, that she would very shortly be changing her mind—as soon as the music began, she would be humming along and sighing and commenting on how wonderful all her Gryffindors looked and how well behaved they were.

Grr.

Severus glanced at his pocket watch—7:55. The dance was about to begin, and the hall was full of overly-hormonal teenagers. He wished he had brought his fire whiskey with him.

When the clock struck 8:00, Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands, and everyone fell to silence.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the first Hogwarts' Yule Ball. Before the music begins, I would implore you all to remember your manners, and to enjoy yourself to the utmost extent of your ability. If you find that these two suggestions contradict each other, I would invite you to excuse yourselves to the rose maze just west of the Great Hall."

Snape thought his eyes might pop out. Dumbledore was actually _encouraging_ that sort of behavior? Snape put a hand to his temples—he could feel the headache coming on.

"With that said, let the dance begin!"

The band started to play, and numerous couples—mostly lead by the girls, Snape noticed—made their way to the dance floor.

"Oh, look at Miss Kensington and Mr. Randolph! Aren't they so adorable together," McGonagall sighed. Snape was sorely tempted to hit his head repeatedly against the table—she had already started.

"How drunk are you?" he muttered.

"I heard that, Severus, and I'm not drunk at all. I only had a single glass of fire whiskey before coming," McGonagall replied stiffly.

"I don't suppose you have the bottle hidden under the table?" he asked.

"No, Severus. Get your own alcohol."

Students were whirling by the table, each couple looking happier than the next.

"See? Look at that," he said as one particular couple passed, the girl in shockingly low robes and the boy taking advantage of the fact. "I always thought her to be rather intelligent, if unimaginative. But all because of a frivolous social affair, she decides to flaunt herself according to the "current trend of fashion." Students should not have distractions such as this from their studies—it's not good for them, and it's painful to watch."

"Oh, honestly, Severus, Hogwarts is about more than just academic education. It's also about teaching students sociability so they are effective members of the wizarding society."

"And this is supposed to do this?"

"Yes, Severus. If everyone thought the way you did, wizardkind would end with this generation. They have to form attachments, fall in love—some of these are adults, or very nearly."

"Exactly. This behavior is unbecoming of those who are supposed to be responsible and make good choices."

McGonagall snorted. "Have you ever been to a real party, Severus? I can tell you, they're much worse than this. Some of the Ministry parties in my younger days were…well, I never stayed long."

"You were undoubtedly much wiser than some of these…hooligans, for all their intelligence. Which, collectively, is rather low."

"Was that nearly a compliment, Severus?" McGonagall asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm touched."

"Don't flatter yourself, Minerva," Snape sneered. The two of them lapsed into silence, during which Dumbledore relieved Professor Vector of her terror at Snape's proximity by asking her to dance.

Snape looked around at the students, both those dancing and those hanging on the walls. Not everyone had a partner, although the overwhelming majority did, and there were a few large groups hanging around, changing partners occasionally.

He couldn't help but imagine himself in a student's position at a dance. There had been one or two in his years at Hogwarts, but he had not attended. He preferred, instead, to take advantage of the empty library, although his housemates had teased him horribly—he was used to that. Had he come, however, he would surely have been one of the students hanging on the wall, scowling at the dancers.

In short, nothing had changed.

"Oh, look, Miss Northwood looks lovely tonight, doesn't she, Severus? I wonder who her partner is," McGonagall said, gesturing to the girl in a blue dress who was serving herself punch at the long table to the right.

"I'm hardly in the position to appropriately make assessments as to how my female students look this evening, Minerva," Snape said, though he looked in her direction anyway. She did, indeed, look lovely; he scowled.

"This just further illustrates my point, Minerva. Miss Clara Northwood is a brilliant student, studious, hardworking, passionate, even occasionally creative in her potions—to see her wasting her time at a frivolous party is a discredit to her."

"Severus, be reasonable!" Minerva was on the verge of an explosion. "A student as hardworking as you say she is deserves to have at least one night of absolute pleasure and beauty. No girl should spend all her time studying."

"She would be better off if that were the case. Here, look, she's standing alone. This cannot be a dream for her—it must be more like a nightmare."

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. Even alone, a dance is more entertaining than a empty dorm."

Snape couldn't help but snort into his glass. If Miss Northwood was anything like himself, she'd be wishing she'd gone to the library.

---

Clara was beginning to wonder whether she was ridiculously stupid not to have stayed in the empty library. As she stood against the wall and sipped her punch, her thoughts were drawn to the texts she could be poring over—she could be reading up on Markaby's theories of relative transfiguration in cross-species switches. Or preparing for the independent project Professor Flitwick had hinted at a few weeks before break. Or getting ready for the next poison-antidote 100 question test. Anything sounded better than watching couple after couple circle by, waiting for someone—anyone!—to come say hello to her.

She could not see Sherry, or Candace, or even Amadora—the latter was probably deep in the rose maze with her date—or anyone at all she felt comfortable approaching. Everyone seemed so horridly attached to another body; no one she knew was alone. _And even if they were_, she thought, _I would be too shy to talk to them_.

Most of the songs being played were rather fast, and didn't exactly require a partner—they were more suitable for groups—but Clara was far too self-conscious to dance alone. Only a few slow songs were interspersed with the fast, and these made her most miserable of all.

She couldn't help but ask herself: _Where is Prince Charming?_

---

"She still hasn't been asked to dance. Poor girl—I feel so badly for her," Minerva sighed. "She really is a beauty, though she doesn't well attend to her appearance on an everyday basis. Teenagers can be so cruel, even without meaning it—I wonder how it is that no one asked her?"

"Perhaps she elected to come alone," Snape said, pouring another dollop of wine into his and Minerva's glasses—he had determined that there was no way he was getting through the evening without serious amounts of alcohol coursing through his blood. Minerva had agreed, and was becoming more and more mushy with each glass.

"Why would she want to come alone? She looks miserable. Just once tonight, I hope someone tells her how radiant she looks."

---

The next two hours stretched on like eternity, but Clara could not bring herself to leave. She seemed entranced by the dancers, the spinning colors in the dim lights, and more than once felt herself nodding into a fantasy. Finally, though, when the clock struck ten and signaled the halfway point of the dance, she was snapped out of her dream. No one was going to notice her. No one was going to talk to her, and she dared not talk to anyone. She was nothing—no one knew her face, because it was always behind a book. How dare she even believe she could come and have a good time?

She set her empty glass down on the serving table and began to walk towards the door to the Entrance Hall. _My parents were right. Disobeying their wishes only brought disaster. I'll never do so again._

A single tear made its way down her cheek as she stepped into the smaller room.

She was nothing.

---

Snape had not been watching Miss Northwood—it would be rather boring to watch the unmoving figure all evening—but he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, when she set down her glass and made her way towards the door.

In an action he later attributed to his near-drunkenness (which was hardly rational thinking—it would take more than a few glasses of wine to set Severus Snape reeling), he set down his own glass and, ignoring Minerva's inquiries, made his way swiftly across the floor, pushing aside more than one overly-entangled couple. In moments, he was through the Entrance Hall door, just in time to see the door to the west wing of the castle swing shut. He quickly opened it and stepped through.

---

Clara stopped when she heard the door close a second time. She turned quickly to see Professor Snape standing just yards behind her.

"Professor?" she asked, confused. Another tear found its way down her cheek, but she wiped it away. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't let you leave. I've been watching you this evening, Miss Northwood. Alone. Why did you come alone?"

His speech patterns were different than normal—instead of long, flowing sentences ended in barbed insults, he was brief and to the point. Clara was even more thrown by this unfamiliarity than she was by his strange presence before her.

"Because no one asked me, I suppose," she replied, looking away from him and trying to clear her eyes. "Why does it matter?"

Snape was silent for a moment. "You are too much like me, Miss Northwood, although undoubtedly more...well-intended. I rarely share my past with students, but I must tell you that I was rather alone, too, when I was in school. I've always had a rather poor opinion of dances, and so I thought to scorn you for even coming tonight—but as a colleague pointed out to me, every hardworking, intelligent girl deserves a day to forget her mind and look beautiful." He took a step forward, staring hard into her eyes with the slightest frown on his face. "So, you see, I couldn't let you leave without someone telling you…" The frown smoothed out and was replaced by a wry smile. "Without telling you that you look radiant tonight."

Clara was dumbstruck. There were simply no words. She closed her eyes—was she in another dream? But nowhere, even in her wildest dreams would she have imagined her sardonic, hateful, caustic Potions teacher to fulfill the role of Prince Charming, to be the only one to notice her!

Her ear did not register it at first, but the blasting music from the Great Hall was changing from a fast, wild song into a rare slow song. She did not notice, at least, until Snape held out his hand to her, and she took it.

---

Severus held the small girl at appropriate length as they turned in slow circles in the hallway. He had not been lying—he hadn't been able to tell from a distance that she really looked so different from normal, but up close, it was impossible to ignore. This girl he had viewed only as a child of eleven had certainly, alarmingly, grown up without his noticing. It was often this way with teaching for so many years—unless the students made a drastic change, he never saw a difference between the awkward first years and the almost-adult seventh years.

This was a drastic change.

The dress she was wearing, midnight blue at the top but fading through lighter blues and finally to white at the hem, was modest—Severus applauded her for that—and clearly complimentary.

She looked truly radiant, and he was glad he had acted on impulse and told her so.

---

Clara couldn't believe it, and she couldn't stop a few more tears from winding their way down her face. But it was not from sadness—it was in joy! It did not matter in the slightest that it was her Potions teacher who held her so gently, in a way she did not think he was capable; _someone_ had noticed her, someone had told her she was beautiful! And it was not the empty compliment of her roommates, who would tell her she was gorgeous if she even lifted a finger to try on makeup. No, this comment came from a man who _never_ gave compliments, who _never_ had a positive thing to say—a man she looked up to, honored, respected. And now, they were dancing together, and he was holding her with the same respect she had always shown him.

---

The song ended, and Severus removed his hand from hers. He could see in Miss Northwood's eyes a mixture of relief, gratitude, and joy. He had not ever, perhaps, been looked at quite like that, and it made him feel quite strange. He inclined his head to her and turned to go back to the dreaded Hall.

"Thank you," he heard her whisper. He could say nothing back.

---

That night, as Candace and Amadora and Sherry discussed their evening with giggles, Clara lay in her nightgown with her curtains pulled tightly closed around her bed, pretending to be asleep, listening. The girls related their stories, their woes about trodden-on feet, their triumphs at their good-night kisses.

And when they whispered, Poor Clara, she couldn't help but smile.

For though they might forget their evening as they all moved on to new conquests, Clara knew she would treasure the night in her heart forever.


End file.
